


The Night in the Dacha Affair

by illyakin



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyakin/pseuds/illyakin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in the homeland, memories old and new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night in the Dacha Affair

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to svetlanacat, who gives so much pleasure with her wonderful, sexy pictures. She posted one and asked for a story to go with it and here it is. It is slash, as requested, and rated explicit. I did this story w/o a beta, contrary to my norm, so all errors are mine, all mine.

The Night in the Dacha Affair

The two men skied between the trees along the ridge above a bowled valley. Occasionally, small piles of snow would drop from low hanging tree branches, sometimes landing harmlessly in the surrounding snow cover, sometimes plopping heavily on their heads or shoulders. They broke the tree line and stopped, staring across the broad, white, expanse stretching below them.

“It’s beautiful,” Napoleon Solo murmured softly, awed by the contrast of bright, white, sun-reflected, snow and deep blue sky. He turned to his partner and studied the normally expressionless profile. “It’s breathtaking, Illya.”

Illya Kuryakin turned to face Solo and gave him a face splitting grin. Napoleon savored the expression. Smiles in general were few from Illya, the open, light up the face ones, the one that graced the blond’s face now, rarer still.

The two men, friends as well as partners, were on a rare, vacation. Ten days to spend wherever and however they chose and they had chosen to spend them together. Napoleon had let his partner select their destination and, frankly, Napoleon wasn’t sure that had been the best idea. They’d spent one night in a run down hotel with only cold water, and now, three days into their journey to God knew where, they had not shaved or had a proper shower.

Illya’s beard was scruffy and glinted with ice crystals. Napoleon smiled at the sparse growth and shook his head slightly. He and Illya were only a year apart in age but the Russian looked younger. Even his beard grew more like a teenager’s first attempt than like a grown man’s. Standing there looking into the distance, with the sun angling over his features, Illya seemed surrounded by a golden aura and Napoleon felt the love and desire he felt for his partner well up in him. Napoleon sighed quietly. He was going to have to face his feelings, summon his courage and tell his partner how he felt. Napoleon hoped for an outcome that would bring his relationship with Illya to a new level. But he was prepared for punch in the nose and abandonment in the wilderness.

“What is it?” Illya questioned his partner, as Napoleon seemed lost in thought.

“Nothing. Just admiring that bit of crusty moss you’re sporting,” Solo answered, teasing. He flicked a finger up his friend’s cheek dislodging flecks of ice.

“Yeah, well your beard may be a bit darker and denser but trust me, my friend, it is no less icy,” Kuryakin told him and ran his hand down the side of Napoleon’s face, slightly cupping his jaw. He then showed his gloved hand, covered with tiny ice speckles.

“Not much farther now,” Illya said wiping his hand on his trousers then waving it in a mostly eastern direction. “Another couple of hours I think.”

Napoleon’s face dropped. “You think? You mean you’re not sure?” His tone grew concerned. “Illya, we sledded for three hours this morning, traded in the dogs for cross country skis and have been skiing for the last two hours!” Napoleon exclaimed.

“I know. Has it not been wonderfully invigorating?” Illya grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Courage, my friend,” Illya patted Napoleon’s arm, “I promise you we will have shelter before nightfall. Shall we go on?”

Illya lowered his tinted goggles onto his eyes and poled a course to the edge of a drop off. Napoleon lost sight of his friend for a few seconds until he reached the drop off. The downward slope was littered with jutting rocks and half covered boulders but Illya navigated between and around them at break-neck speed. Much too dangerous, in Napoleon’s opinion.

“Courage,” Napoleon muttered echoing Illya’s parting words. He lowered his own goggles and followed the path Illya’s skis had left in the powdery snow, trusting his partner as always.

Reaching the floor of the valley, Illya paused to let Napoleon catch up. A plume of snow sprayed him as Napoleon came to a dramatic halt. Illya chuckled and wiped snow from his goggles and parka. The decent had taken longer than Napoleon had expected. He eyed the sun hanging low in the sky. There was not a track, not a sign of mankind, as far as the eye could see on the smooth, sun gilded plane before them. Strewn with boulders as black as night and lone sentinel trees laced with snow, dotted the valley. It was pristine and incredibly beautiful even in its stark harshness. It was bitterly cold and sure to get colder as night fell.

“It’s cold,” Napoleon commented.

“It is February, in the mountains outside of Kiev. What did you expect?” Illya asked, feigning a stern tone.

“I expected the ‘vacation’ you promised we were taking.” Napoleon pulled his heavy coat closer around him and adjusted his scarf. He wondered how Illya could possibly be warm enough in that white turtle neck sweater and the brown parka he wore with the top buttons open.

“We are on vacation, Napoleon. You yourself said it was “breathtaking”. I see that word used all the time in the multitude of vacation brochures you peruse.” Illya gave Napoleon his best wide eyed innocent look.

“Mmm, but it is usually enticing one to enjoy ‘Breathtakingly, lovely sunsets off warm Catalina Island’, or an ‘Amazing sunrise on a breathtaking, tropical beach in the Caribbean’, or even to ‘View the breathtaking, pristine slopes in Aspen from the warmth of your mountain lodge with roaring fire.’ Not once, in any of those brochures, have I seen ‘February in Kiev’s rural outskirts. The view is breathtaking and the temperatures are cold enough to freeze your balls off.’” Napoleon groused.

Illya just chuckled.

Napoleon knew he would get no farther with his stubborn Russian. Illya had something in mind and Napoleon was just going to have to wait to find out what it was. Illya seemed relaxed, unhurried and unworried. Something different gleamed in his eyes. Napoleon caught his breath as he realized what he’d seen flash through the blond’s eyes looked very much like desire. His heart thumped its hope and his penis stirred in anticipatory interest.

‘Down boy,’ Napoleon admonished himself, resigned to Illya’s timetable.

“It’s going to be dark soon. How far are we from our ultimate destination?” Napoleon inquired gazing across the valley again.

Illya took that moment to examine Napoleon. He knew his partner was tiring from the cold and all the exertion of the day. ‘How far from our ultimate destination?’ Illya asked himself. ‘Maybe nearer than I think, if I am reading you correctly, my friend.’

“Not much farther,” was how Illya answered. “Don’t worry, Napoleon. Do you see those woods over there?” Illya pointed toward the ridge across the valley. From the corner of his eye, he saw Napoleon nod. “See the sun glinting off the snow to the right there? That’s where we are going. So, if we move on, we will be there before it becomes dark. We shall have time to lay a fire, and we shall be sheltered and unbothered by the wolves.” Illya’s grin was wide and definitely mischievous.

“W-Wolves?” Napoleon asked hesitantly. He wasn’t sure if Illya was kidding him or not. His heart and his dick stilled at this much more frightening thought.

Illya nodded enthusiastically and began shooshing through the snow away from him. “Keep up, Napoleon!” he called over his shoulder.

Illya was serious about the wolves. Napoleon hurried to comply.

IIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNN

Half the sun was consumed by the horizon when the two men drew up in front of a huge mound of snow. At least it looked like a huge mound of snow to Napoleon.

“We have arrived,” Illya announced lifting his goggles to the top of his head.

“This is it?” Napoleon sounded dubious. “A half-mountain of snow?”

Illya sucked his tongue behind his front teeth. “Tch. That’s a fine way to speak of my grandmother’s dacha,” he chided trying to sound stern but failing miserably. Illya smiled, a small, almost sad little smile. “It doesn’t look like much, I know, and truly?...it isn’t much, barely worthy of being called a dacha. But it is constructed of stone that my grandfather dug from his own fields and roofed with tin, over-layed with shale. That is why it still stands when all the other homes were burned. It has been empty for over 20 years but it should be secure and safe enough.”

Having revealed that bit of his own history, Illya removed a small shovel from his backpack and began to dig snow from the area in front of the mound and revealed a stone step.

“There should be four,” he told Napoleon, then started to clear snow about eight inches above that.

“Ok,” Napoleon said resignedly. He found a small shovel in his pack, shouldered Illya over and began to dig as well.

They soon had the steps cleared and knocked down a wall of snow encasing the porch. Once that was gone, Napoleon could see the house, a small stone cottage with single, shuttered windows to the left and right of the door. The door was in surprisingly good shape, oak banded with iron, solid looking. The porch appeared to go around the side of the house on both ends. Small snow covered mounds here and there indicated objects long forgotten.

“Do you have a key?” Napoleon asked his partner.

Illya snorted and reached for the door knob. He had to use all his strength to turn the knob and slammed his shoulder into the door until it finally creaked and slid open a couple of inches.

“Help me push, Napoleon,” Ilya ordered and Napoleon lent his shoulder to the door as well. It creaked open enough for them to enter.

They stopped just inside and pulled out their flashlights. Shining the light around, Napoleon saw the interior of the cottage was indeed in good shape. The wooden floors looked a little warped but mostly the planks lay flat. Everything was dusty but still appeared to be usable.

There was just the one room, about twenty-five feet long and twenty feet deep. A large fireplace took up the center of the right hand wall. Napoleon could see there was a bed tucked into an alcove behind the fireplace and propped against the the wall near the corner was a ladder that led up to a loft. A wood burning stove, a short counter counter and a deep sink with a hand pump, lined the back wall, a table and four straight-backed chairs were set by the left hand wall. There was one shabby armchair facing the fireplace.

“I’ve found a lamp,” Illya said bringing over an old lamp from the counter in the kitchen area. “No oil but I brought some so we should be ok for light. Now we need to get a fire started in here.” Illya rubbed at his arms, “Get the chill out.”

“Did you bring wood with you too?” Napoleon asked skeptically.

“No, Comrade Comedian. There should be a wood box on the porch. I’ll wager there’s still some wood in there.” Illya pushed past Napoleon and went out onto the porch.

Napoleon followed him out and watched as his friend opened the wood box and pulled out a few sickly looking pieces of wood. Illya turned sheepishly toward his partner.

“Not much to make a fire with is it,” he said.

“No, not much,” Napoleon agreed. He looked west. The sun was almost gone. “Do you think we have time to get some wood from there?” he raised his chin toward the woods beyond the house.

“Enough for tonight, at least. We can get more tomorrow,” Illya answered. “We’ll have to hurry, though.”

The sun was down and their only light was the half moon. They could not use their flashlights as they needed their hands free. The agents returned with an armload of wood each. They started a fire in the fireplace and in the wood stove.

Napoleon plunked himself down in the armchair. “Ohhh,” he moaned, “Not much a one for comfort was she? Your grandmother I mean,” he said as Illya brought their packs to his side.

“Not really. She held that the straight-backed chairs were for sitting for meals and conversation. The beds were for sleeping and the chair you are sitting in was for her comfort,” Illya told him, smiling at the memory as he began pulling supplies from his backpack.

“We’ll have to do with vegetable soup tonight. We can hunt…” Illya broke off as a howl pierced the night. When it stopped he finished his thought, “tomorrow when we go to gather more wood.”

“Illya, was that a wolf?” Napoleon asked not as calm as he sounded.

“Yes and it was close by,” Illya answered. Another howl, closer still, an answering call and soon the air was filled with the howls of a wolf pack.

Napoleon looked nervously around. “They can’t get in can they?” he asked.

“I don’t see how. We can barely open the door enough for us to enter.” Napoleon did not look convinced, so Illya added, “But just in case,” he crossed to the door and pushed the latch to secure it. “First time that door has been locked in 20 years or more,” Illya said.

A scrabbling sound at the door told them there was at least one wolf on the porch. But the only windows were the two small ones shuttered closed so Illya was not really concerned.

When he turned back, Napoleon was standing, poised for action.

“Relax, Napoleon. They cannot get in. They are hungry and this area belongs to them now…has for many years, I suspect. They will roam and howl for a while but they will leave when they realize they cannot get to us.”

“What if I have to pee during the night?” Napoleon asked looking around for a privy of some sort.

Illya went to the bed in the alcove, reached under it and pulled out a porcelain chamber pot. “Not even cracked,” he told Napoleon as he slid it back under the bed.

“Oh fine. What have you gotten me into, Kuryakin?” Napoleon sat back down. He was exhausted. They had expended an awful lot of energy. “I need a nice, hot, bath,” he sighed. “Don’t suppose that’s in the realm of possibilities is it?”

“A bath as in, in a bath tub?” Illya shook his head soberly. “Sadly no. But bathing with hot water may be possible. I will show you while our dinner is heating up.”

Napoleon looked around the small cottage. “You got a spa hidden under the floor boards?” he asked sarcastically.

Napoleon looked over at Illya who was studying the floor his face the one he wore at UNCLE HQ, impassive, unreadable. But Napoleon knew Illya. He knew he’d offended his friend.

“Hey, Illya,” Napoleon began in a conciliatory tone, “I’m sorry. That was rude of me and mean spirited. I’m sorry.”

Illya nodded, accepting the apology. “You agreed to vacation with me in my homeland, Napoleon. Since I am not exactly welcome in Russia anymore, I thought it best to stay away from the general population and any ‘popular’ visitor’s spots,” Illya spoke quietly, “I knew my grandmother’s house would still be here, though I did not know if it had been taken over by anyone else,” Illya explained.

“I get all that, Illya, but this is no vacation. We’ll be here two days you said. And now I find we’re to spend it chopping wood, hunting game,” Napoleon looked around as several wolves howled at once from right outside the door, “hiding from wolves,” he finished quietly.

“They will not bother us in the daytime, Napoleon, I promise,” Illya reassured.

“How do you know?” Napoleon asked still quiet, looking directly at his partner.

Illya drew a chair close to Napoleon and sat. He leaned forward holding his partner’s eyes.

Napoleon stared back at his friend. Not for the first time in their friendship, Napoleon took in Illya’s features. Tousled blond hair, the most amazing blue eyes he’d ever seen, a straight nose and a mouth that begged to be kissed.

“The man is beautiful,” Napoleon thought. “And he doesn’t even realize it.”

Napoleon felt himself grow hard and hoped Illya would not look down and notice.

Illya spoke softly, as though speaking to a skittish animal that needed gentling. His face was placid his eyes serious.

“I lived here, Napoleon, for seven years with my family. When they were…when I was the only one left, I survived alone for another three years. Here.” Illya hesitated, watching Napoleon’s face for his reaction. Satisfied he did not see pity of any kind, he continued.

“I know this area. I know the wildlife, the best times to go out, the areas that are safe to go to hunt and fish. Napoleon, you are always asking me about my childhood. I am taking this opportunity to show you a small piece of it.” Illya gestured to encompass the entire area. “My happiest and my worst memories are tied to this place, this land. It can be a vacation. Let me lead for once. Some of it will be difficult, yes, but if you let me lead, if you will follow, I promise you, when we leave here, the memories will be everlasting.” He took Napoleon’s hands in his and squeezed lightly. “Let me give you this gift.”

“You can’t even grow a proper beard,” Napoleon heard himself saying as he disentangled one hand and stroked the scruffy three day growth on Illya’s cheeks. His voice was soft, his eyes never leaving Illya’s. “You look like a boy who’s not been allowed to shave yet,” he murmured.

He knew he would follow wherever Illya led him. He hoped Illya felt the same way he did because if he did, then Napoleon knew his memories would indeed be everlasting. And maybe, just maybe, he would come away with something more everlasting than just memories. His heart thumped.

When had he fallen in love with Illya? Napoleon knew it had been almost from the first moment they’d met. Napoleon remembered the amazed and lost look in the Russian’s eyes as he took in everything New York, everything American. His new partner was awed.

Napoleon hoped to come away from this vacation with the Russian as his partner on all levels not just work. His penis throbbed at the possibility.

“I have a proper beard,” Illya answered softly, trying to sound indignant.

“You have a beginner’s beard,” Napoleon chuckled. Unchecked his hand felt the sparse whiskers again then, on its own, turned and carded through Illya’s soft, blond hair. He returned his eyes to Illya’s. He was filled with desire for this man, he’d felt this way for a long time. He’d denied it was anything more than concern for his partner and friend, when Illya was hurt and in Medical. Napoleon knew he’d been lying to himself. He was through denying that he loved Illya. Would that Illya loved him back. Napoleon stifled a sigh.

“I am not a beginner, Napoleon,” Illya said barely above a whisper.

Napoleon thought he heard something in Illya’s statement that had nothing to do with his beard. Before he could say anything else, though, Illya stood and moved the chair back to the table.

“It is warming up nicely in here,” Illya announced peeling out of his parka. He turned, smiled at the slightly flustered looking Napoleon, then crossed the room and hung his coat on a peg next to the door. He returned to the half emptied backpack and continued unloading supplies.

“As I said, we will have to do with vegetable soup tonight.” Illya held up two cans of soup. “I haven’t tried it yet, but I’m not sure the water pump will work. No water, no washing of bowls or utensils or pots so we’ll be warming these up in the fireplace and eating from our mess kits.”

“No water? What do we drink? What happened to my hot water bathing?” Napoleon asked picking up a plastic bag of crackers and another stuffed with candy. He raised his eyebrows at his partner. “I see you didn’t forget the essentials,” he deadpanned.

“High energy food in case we found nothing here,” Illya answered the candy query first. “I don’t know about the water yet. I told you I haven’t checked it but it has been 20 years out of use. Why don’t you go try it while I finish unpacking the supplies,” he suggested. “It will likely be frozen, but if you can break the ice block, it may work.”

“All right. I will,” Napoleon accepted the challenge and went to the sink. He pulled up the pump handle. It was very stiff and he had to put a great deal of effort into getting the handle to the proper position. It took an equal amount of effort to bring the handle down again. Napoleon found himself grunting with the effort and paused a moment to remove his own coat. It was warming up in the small home.

As he struggled with the pump, Napoleon imagined Illya as a child, in this same room, with his parents, younger siblings and grandmother, laughing, learning, living. He could almost hear the ghosts of that past. Then Napoleon’s imagination and own experiences with war time situations, culled up images of enemy soldiers laying waste to the scrub farms this area had once been. Burning, looting, killing. His mind’s eye saw the specters of the family that had once been, being gunned down in front of an innocent child. How had Illya been spared? Napoleon glanced over at Illya who was stirring the soup in one of the mess kit pots, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Where were you hidden when that happened? How did you survive three years on your own?” Napoleon wondered as he stared at the capable man who was his partner.

A loud crack brought him back to the task at hand. The pump handle moved more freely now and a trickle of water flowed into the sink.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to break through the ice. Excellent work, Napoleon,” Illya complimented.

“I lived on a farm too, you know, partner mine. I’m not altogether unfamiliar with winter and water,” Napoleon shot back good naturedly.

Illya rose and placed the mess kit pot on the table. He’d taken a moment to dry dust it with his handkerchief while Napoleon was working with the pump. He had the two mess kit plates there and had set a fork and spoon at each setting as well. He poured some of the soup into the plates and set the pot back on the table, placing the lid on it.

“Supper is ready,” he said to Napoleon bringing their tin cups over to the sink. “Hungry?” Illya asked as he leaned against Napoleon’s side to reach around and fill his cup.

“Y-Yes,” Napoleon did a double take when he looked at Illya’s face. That same flash of something he’d seen earlier had shown up again. He could feel the warmth of Illya’s body pressed against his side and found it very comforting, very arousing.

“Good. Then come and eat,” Illya abruptly moved away leaving Napoleon wondering if he was really being teased or if it was his own desire driving his imagination.

Napoleon filled his cup and approached the table. Illya was smiling at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing. Mmm, delicious,” Illya answered savoring another spoonful of soup.

Napoleon sat down and found a bottle of water at his place. “You brought water?”

“Of course, Napoleon. I didn’t know if the pump was going to work. I said that twice already. Haven’t you been listening?” Illya asked.

“Yes I have and you never said you brought water. You did, however, suggest I try my hand at the pump.” Napoleon took a sip from his cup. “Yow! That is ice cold!”

Illya chuckled. “That’s why I put the bottle there for you.” He looked smug as he sipped from his own cup never flinching at the temperature. “Eat,” Illya urged. “It will warn you up some more.”

Napoleon narrowed his eyes. He sensed Illya playing a game. “How do you know I’m warm already?”

“Working that pump had you breathing hard and I just presumed all that…uh…straining you did, warmed you up a bit,” Illya replied. “Eat, Napoleon. Your soup will get cold. And it is getting late. We must get up early if we want to catch anything for tomorrow’s meals.”

Napoleon spooned his soup into his mouth. It was still hot and he relished the warmth. Despite what Illya had implied, he was warmer than before but still chilly.

“What do you hope to catch for tomorrow’s meals?” Napoleon asked.

“Our best bet will be a couple of rabbits. We can set snares and leave them while we gather firewood. There’s a creek about a quarter mile into the woods. We used to catch smelts and other small fish there. If it isn’t too frozen over, perhaps we will catch some for breakfast for tomorrow and Monday morning,” Illya explained.

“How early will we need to be up?” Napoleon wanted to know as he served himself more soup.

“Well, we should let the sun at least start to come up to make sure the predators have gone back to their lairs. That’s when the small game comes out. We’ll have our snares set by the time the small game comes out,” Illya asserted confidently.

“So in the real world’s time that would be what?” Napoleon asked.

“Six o’clock. And this is the real world, is it not?” Illya asked with a small frown and his head cocked to one side.

“Actually, Illya, it feels very much like a fairy tale. A small cottage at the edge of the woods, wolves in the night, hunting at dawn…” he let the rest trail off.

“I see. Well, fairy tales have happy endings do they not?”

Illya seemed determined to remain upbeat about this adventure and Napoleon was loath to spoil his mood. “Yes they do, indeed.”

Their meal finished, Illya heated up a pot of water and washed out the mess kit pot he’d used to cook, and their plates and utensils. He found a dish towel in a drawer and proceeded to wipe down the counter, the table and the chairs of their accumulated dust. Finally, he swept the floor, moving the detritus into a corner for disposal later. Meanwhile he had hung the small cast iron cauldron, filled with water, on the hook over the fire in the fireplace. By the time the dishes were done and the cleaning was complete, the water was starting to bubble.

Napoleon, in the meantime, had explored loft, finding old children’s story books and papers scrawled with a child’s hand. He knew they were pieces of his partner’s childhood. Napoleon then moved to the alcove behind the fireplace. It was warm and cozy there, the bed comfortable and layered with old quilts. He found a jar of clear liquid on the headboard shelf, opened it and took a sniff.

“Moonshine!” he named it. “And strong to boot!”

Napoleon began to imagine the possibilities that a swig of this could produce. He was brought out of his woolgathering by Illya’s voice.

“What have you got there?” Illya asked ducking his head into the alcove.

“Moonshine from the smell of it,” Napoleon answered and handed over the jar.

Illya sniffed it and smiled. “That’s a jar of my grandfather’s vodka. I didn’t know there was any of this left. Where did you find it?”

“Sitting here on the shelf above the head board. If you lived here three years after…”Napoleon hesitated. Illya had seemed reluctant to say the words earlier.

“After my family was killed,” Illya supplied, a melancholy look on his face.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up sad memories. I only meant to ask why you never found it?” Napoleon asked gently.

Illya drew in a breath and wiped the sadness from his features. “There is no need to be sorry, Napoleon. I never found it because I never slept in this bed. The loft is where the children slept so that is where I slept until I was taken to the state school,” Illya answered.

“But it’s so warm here. I can’t imagine the loft was this warm,” Napoleon placed the lid on the jar and the jar on the headboard and stretched out.

“I did not start a fire in the fireplace. It was too dangerous. The smoke would have been seen. There was a small brazier in the loft that I used when it was extremely cold. This was my grandparent’s bed, my grandmother only allowed us to sleep here with her when we were ill. My parents slept on a pallet in front of the fireplace,” Illya explained.

Napoleon sat up quickly. “Is it all right for me to be here? In the bed I mean?”

Illya chuckled. “Of course it is. Where did you think you would sleep tonight?”

“I, uh, thought here until you told me about your grandmother and all. But that’s been cleared up. So,” Napoleon stripped off to his long johns. “Bed time, right?” He maneuvered around until he was under the quilts then patted the bed beside him invitingly. The thoughts he’d had earlier, and the warmth of the little alcove had conspired to give Napoleon a raging hard on which he hoped he had covered by the quilts unnoticed.

“Did you not want a hot water bath?” Illya reminded Napoleon.

Napoleon seriously considered refusing but he knew if there was hot water, his partner had made a special effort to heat enough for his bath.

“Yes I did. I do, I mean.” Napoleon sighed. “Let me get a towel and I’ll be out,” he told Illya.

“I’ll make the preparations,” Illya nodded and disappeared around the side of the fireplace.

While Napoleon stripped off his long johns and found a towel in his pack, he heard Illya moving about on the other side of the fireplace. It was colder than Napoleon realized and the chill shriveled his earlier erection. He wrapped the towel around his waist and left the alcove.

“What’s this?” Naopleon asked, shocked. There was a worn, faded, rug and a large wooden bucket on the floor in front of the fireplace.

“Your bath,” Illya replied, his eyes wide with innocence.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all, Napoleon.”

“You promised me a hot bath!” Napoleon growled.

“I promised you hot water to bathe with,” Illya corrected. He handed his friend a soft washcloth with a small bow.

Napoleon exhaled in exasperation and took the washcloth. Illya handed him a bar of soap.

“Thank you,” Napoleon muttered standing on the rug and looking down at the bucket of steaming water. He knelt, dipped the washcloth into the water and wiped his face and neck. It was awkward kneeling over the bucket, soaping the cloth and trying to wash, but Napoleon did all right until he stood and removed the towel. It wasn’t that he was cold, quite the contrary, it was warm in front of the blazing fire place. But Napoleon knew his partner’s eyes were on him, probably laughing at him over his troubles washing up. A gentle voice in his ear startled him out of his reverie.

“Do you want some help?” Illya asked.

“No. I’ve been bathing by myself for a long time,” Napoleon answered more gruffly than he’d intended.

Illya did not seem to take offense. “I meant, do you want me to show you the way it is done with a bucket and washcloth?”

“Is there an easier way than the way I’m doing it?” At Illya’s nod, Napoleon accepted the help. “Then by all means, show me how to do this.”

Illya stripped down and squatted by the bucket. He tested the water and found it was still hot and wet his washcloth. He remained squatting and quickly ran the soapy washcloth over his face, neck and shoulders, then down one arm and up the other. He wet the cloth again and scrubbed under his arms, his chest, sides, and stomach. He wet the cloth once more and quickly but thoroughly washed his genitals, legs, feet and backside. Laying the washcloth on the rug, Illya proceeded to splash water directly from the bucket to rinse himself in the same pattern he’d used to wash. When he was finished he stood and dried quickly with his towel.

Napoleon watched and found himself wishing Illya had demonstrated the process on his body. He’d watched fascinated when Illya drew the soapy washcloth over and around his dangling testicles and penis. And the rinsing was even more arousing as Illya had used his hands, touching himself as he splashed water. Napoleon became aware that Illya was now watching him as Napoleon stood naked and semi-erect by the bucket.

“That’s how it’s done then,” Napoleon stated and cleared his throat. Illya murmured a quiet ‘Yes’ as Napoleon crouched down in front of the bucket. He began to wash in the same way Illya had. He thought he heard a stifled moan when his hand cupped his balls and washed them. Napoleon grew harder imagining his partner aroused at watching him. But when Napoleon was finished Illya was not in the room. Napoleon wrapped the towel around his waist. It tented in front. He went back to the alcove.

Illya was sitting on the edge of the bed wearing clean long johns and holding the vodka jar in his hand. He barely glanced at Napoleon as he came in. He’d been very aroused watching Napoleon wash. He’d had to leave the room to regain his composure.

“Sampling your grandfather’s wares?” Napoleon teased as he began to put on clean long johns, struggling to pull them over his erection.

“No. Just reminiscing.” Illya was careful not to turn toward his partner.  
Napoleon tapped Illya on the shoulder and his partner stood immediately. “What?” Illya asked sounding a little startled.

It’s bed time isn’t it?”

“Yes, bed time. Good night, Napoleon.” Illya started to back out of the alcove.

“Hey wait, where are you going?” Napoleon asked crawling under the quilts.

“I’ll sleep in the loft,” Illya answered.

“No! I mean, that’s ridiculous. Is it because of your grandmother? How she felt about anyone in her bed? Because if it is,” Napoleon argued.

Illya interrupted him. “It has nothing to do with my grandmother, Napoleon. Trust me.” He gave Napoleon a small smile.

“Then why are you going to sleep in the loft instead of here in the nice warm bed?” Napoleon demanded.

Illya lifted the quilt and peered at his partner’s groin. He smiled, dropped the quilt, and met Napoleon’s eyes, waiting expectantly.

Napoleon did not know what to say so he said nothing.

Illya leaned back in and kissed him. Just a light brushing of his lips against Napoleon’s.

Napoleon’s heart leapt and his penis strained for attention. He hadn’t been wrong then. Illya was feeling the same things he was. Napoleon felt like whooping with delight.

“Good night, Napoleon,” Illya repeated and began to move away again.

Illya had started it but Napoleon was not about to let it go at just a chaste meeting of lips.

“You can’t kiss me and then just go sleep in the loft, Kuryakin,” he growled playfully.

“You promised to let me lead, Napoleon. Please let me,” Illya pleaded.

“You must know I want you,” Napoleon answered quietly, seriously.

“And I you,” Illya answered just as seriously. There.

The declarations of desire had been made by them both.

Illya visibly relaxed and sat on the edge of the bed. He caressed Napoleon’s face. “It is silly but I have things planned. I told you it was a gift for you and it is, but it is as much a gift to myself. Please trust me, Napoleon. I promise you, you will not be disappointed.”

“I do trust you. I don’t have a clue what you are talking about but I did promise to follow your lead in this and I will.” Napoleon took a deep breath before he continued. “I…”

Napoleon got no further. Illya stopped him from saying anything else by pressing two fingers to Napoleon’s lips.

When Illya removed his hand, Napoleon asked, “Trust you?” Illya nodded. “Then trust me,” Napoleon countered, lifting the quilt in invitation again. “I promise I won’t do anything but sleep.”

Illya looked away toward the main room of the house then looked up toward the loft before looking back at Napoleon.

“Stay on you side of the bed, Solo,” he warned as he skinned down to his long johns and climbed into bed. Illya knew by morning, Napoleon would be cuddled up to him. They’d shared a bed on enough missions that Illya knew his partner was a cuddler. He smiled as he drifted of to sleep.

IIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNN

Napoleon smelled coffee. The heady aroma drew him awake. He was disoriented for a moment before remembering where he was. Illya was sitting on the edge of the bed holding a steaming cup.

“For me?” Napoleon asked with a sweet smile as he was handed the cup. He took a swallow. “Oh that’s good, but my bladder is demanding relief.”

Illya stood. “It’s still under the bed but I’m afraid you’ll have to empty it yourself,” Illya told him.

“Did you use it and empty it?” Napoleon groaned at the thought of facing the cold morning.

“My bladder too, demanded relief and I yes I did empty it.” Illya turned toward the living area. “Dress warmly. We leave in a few minutes.”

Napoleon peed long and hard and sighed. When he finished he covered the chamber pot and dressed. He took his partner’s advice and dressed in the warmest clothes he had brought with him then joined Illya by the fireplace.

“How does one empty a chamber pot? Do you just open the door and toss the pee into the snow?” Napoleon asked.

“Crude, but basically correct. Although it should be emptied away from the house so as not to draw predators to our scent.” Illya finished lacing his boots, pulled on his shoulder holster and began to pull on his coat.

Napoleon followed suit, pulled on a hat and gloves and picked up the chamber pot. “Lead on, McDuff,” he quipped.

Illya grinned and shook his head. “That’s not coming with us on this foray, my friend. Take it outside and go around the left side of the house to the gulley about one hundred yards beyond the tree line. Empty it there, clean it out with fresh snow and bring it back. I have another few things to take care of while you are doing that,” Illya explained. “Oh, and if you have any other business to take care of, that is the place for it and be sure you bury it well.”

Napoleon saluted him with two fingers and opened the door. “It’s still dark out here,” he commented.

“Yes. The sun should be up in about half an hour, which is why we are in a hurry. You should have enough light to see, however, if you want to take the lantern it is on the table,” Illya answered pointing.

“I think I will. I don’t know the town as well as you do,” Napoleon teased, taking the lantern and exiting.

When Napoleon returned, Illya met him at the door and handed him one of their backpacks.

“Hold this. I’ll put that away,” he said trading backpack for chamber pot and lantern. He joined Napoleon a few moments later and they trudged toward the woods in front of the dacha.

They were used to stealth and moved quietly through the trees setting snares where Illya indicated. They were about a quarter mile into the woods and could not see the dacha anymore. Napoleon followed his partner away from where they’d laid the snares into a more densely treed area about another quarter mile deeper into the woods.

Illya opened the backpack, pulled out a thermos and poured a steaming cup of coffee. He took a sip and handed the cup to Napoleon who gratefully took it and drank. He cupped his gloved hands around it for a bit of warmth.

“It’s bitter cold out here,” Napoleon whispered handing the half empty cup back.

“Why are you whispering?” Illya asked, then drained the cup.

Napoleon blinked at his partner then squared his shoulders. “I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to do,” he finally answered.

Illya chuckled. “Sort of like whispering in a reverent place?” he asked.

“Yes, exactly like that.” Napoleon gazed around at their surroundings. The sun was up but the sky was overcast. This far in the woods, the snow was not deep, just a light covering over the pine needled ground but enough that the boughs of the pines hung down over them like a white and green canopy. Everything seemed to glow in the diffused morning light. It did seem a reverent place.

“Did you play in these woods when you were little?” Napoleon asked his friend.

“Yes. In the summer it was cooler here and the local gypsy’s made their camp very near here. I played with their children, learned their ways and traditions and the woods were full of game all year round. My father taught me to hunt and fish and track. I was very young and had only just been allowed to actually shoot the rifle when…” Illya paused, “when the soldiers came and everything changed,” he concluded. His face took on a wistful expression.

“I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories, Illya,” Napoleon began.

Illya turned to him and brightened. “Just memories, Napoleon. Most of them good.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “We shall gather wood for the fire here and take it back to the house. By the time we gather enough, we should have something in the snares.” Illya clapped Napoleon on the shoulder and turned to the task.

More than an hour later, the two agents made their last trip to the dacha with wood. They’d gathered enough for both the fireplace and the wood stove to see them through to the next morning when they would head back to civilization. Now it was time to check the snares in hopes of having caught something.

As they approached the first snare, they could see a fat rabbit wriggling and struggling to get free.

“Lunch,” Napoleon announced as he took hold of the rabbit and killed it.

“Supper,” Illya answered back as he pointed to a snare twenty yards off. Another rabbit was sending fur flying in its attempt to free itself. “That should be enough. If we’ve caught anything else, we’ll let it go.”

The men field dressed the rabbits, packed them in the snow and then moved about to the other snares. They lost sight of each other as they worked but neither was concerned. Napoleon had returned to where they’d snow packed their catches, wrapped them in wax paper, and was loading them into the backpack when Illya came running toward him. Napoleon stood, backpack in hand, with a questioning look on his face.

“Remember what I told you about the wolves not bothering us in the daytime?” Illya paused, bouncing nervously and glancing over his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“I was wrong. They are still out here and they’ve scented our kill. I suggest we run,” Illya grabbed Napoleon’s arm and pulled him along.

They ran toward the dacha. Breaking the tree line, they started across the small clearing when they heard snarling behind them.

“Do not stop and do not look back!” Illya shouted pushing Napoleon toward the porch and turning to face the wolves. He continued moving backward as he pulled his pistol and fired at the pack. Immediately they stopped and backed off, buying the agents enough time to race into the house and bolt the door.

“So what do we do now?” Napoleon wanted to know, panting from the run.

“I counted six. If they are still hanging around tomorrow morning, i think we are going to have to shoot them if we intend on getting out of here,” Illya told him. “For now, we are safe.”

They moved into the room. Napoleon dropped into the arm chair and Illya plopped to the floor at his feet. They both breathed deeply letting their pounding hearts and ragged breathing return to normal.

Finally, Illya looked up at his partner. “Hungry?”

Napoleon chuffed out a laugh at the eternal question. However, he answered, “Famished. You really gave me a good work out this morning, IK,” he replied in mock disgruntlement.

Rising fluidly, Illya muttered sotto voce, “Not as good as I plan on giving you later.”

“What was that?” Napoleon questioned.

“Nothing. Bacon and eggs all right with you?” Illya pulled out a small bundle from inside his parka.

“Where did you get bacon and eggs?” Napoleon demanded. “I helped you unpack last night and I didn’t see any bacon and certainly no eggs.”

“When I was clearing the last two snares, I met an old man, a gypsy. I traded him two fat rabbits for two rashers of bacon and two eggs.” Illya smiled proudly.

“Clever Russian,” Napoleon answered nodding. “And is that when you spotted the wolves?”

“No. The old man told me he’d spotted them. He’d lost his catch to them which is why he was glad to trade,” Illya answered busying himself with a skillet at the wood stove. “Peek through one of the shutters and see if the wolves are still out there, would you please, Napoleon?”

Napoleon rose and opened a shutter to peer out. There were tracks in the snow but no wolves to be seen. There was no movement near the house or along the tree line.

“I don’t see a thing,” he answered closing the shutter. “Good thing we brought all the wood into the house. I don’t want to go out there until tomorrow morning when we’re sure they’re gone. I don’t mind telling you, Illya, I was pretty frightened. Facing THRUSH is one thing but a pack of hungry wolves is the stuff of nightmares.”

He turned back to the room and saw Illya still cooking but his back was stiff, his shoulders set, and his movements clipped.

“What’s wrong?” Napoleon asked coming up behind his friend and laying his hands on his shoulders. He felt Illya stiffen more. “Hey, tell me what’s angered you so?”

Last night, Illya had seemed receptive to a relationship beyond their working partnership. Napoleon had been ready. More than ready. And there was something about this place that brought out the gentler side of Illya, the human part of him that relaxed and was just Illya the man, not Illya the duty driven agent. It was very attractive and very arousing. Napoleon sincerely hoped he’d not been the one to anger his partner this way.

“It is silly,” Illya murmured softly, the tension easing from his shoulders a bit.

“That’s the second time you’ve referred to something about yourself as silly, Illya. I don’t think it is. Please just tell me,” Napoleon answered, massaging the tension from his friend’s shoulders.

“I told you I had plans,” Illya began.

“Yes, I remember,” Napoleon interjected.

“Part of those plans, the part that was a gift to me, was to add to the memories I have of this place. The good memories, Napoleon. No more killing here. No more death here. And what have I done? Brought you here, endangered your life, and now I am asking you to shed blood on this place, possibly your own, in the morning,” Illya answered.

“You didn’t endanger my life. I came willingly,” he turned Illya so they faced each other. “Those are wolves out there, Illya, not someone’s pet dogs. They want to kill us, what alternative do we have?” Illya shrugged his shoulders silently. Napoleon mimicked him. “That’s your answer?” Illya shrugged one shoulder. Napoleon sighed. “Will they eventually give up and go away?”

“Yes they will but we have to be back in New York in less than five days,” the Russian replied.

“It took us three days to get here, so three days to get home, leaves us two days, today and tomorrow,” Napoleon figured aloud. “Surely they’ll leave before that. They’re hungry you said, and there’s no meal for them here.”

“I also said they’d give up when they realized they couldn’t get to us last night,” Illya answered, “I suppose we could wait until tomorrow, though that chamber pot is liable to be rather ripe by morning if we find the wolves do not leave.”

“We’ll worry about that if and when we have to. In the meantime, we’re set with food. We caught enough for a couple of days, you brought a big bag of crackers and candy but I know you, you plan better than that. What else did you bring?” Napoleon inquired.

“A can of condensed milk, two more cans of soup, dried vegetables, chocolate bars, a bottle of scotch and a bottle of vodka,” Illya recited.

Napoleon raised his eyebrows. “What kind of meal were you planning with all that?” Napoleon was surprised at the list of items. “And why’d you keep the scotch a secret?”

Napoleon,” Illya sounded exasperated. He rubbed his forehead, sighed heavily and his body slumped. “It is Valentine’s Day, Napoleon. I planned on the rabbits, roasting them in the oven with the vegetables and making a sauce with the soup. For desert I was going to melt some of the chocolate bars and mix it with some of the milk…oh what difference does it make now. I’ve spoiled the moment.”

Napoleon’s heart swelled and his throat closed with emotion. Valentine’s Day. He’d completely forgotten. And Illya had planned this trip hoping to create good memories here, memories that involved Napoleon. He was touched, delighted, and knew had to salvage his partner’s painstaking plans somehow.

On impulse, Napoleon took Illya’s face in his hands and kissed him. The kiss lingered, he grew bolder and ran the tip of his tongue over the plump, pink, bottom lip and Illya responded by opening his mouth a little. Napoleon took advantage and began a plundering exploration of Illya’s mouth and was delighted when Illya reciprocated.

Illya reached behind him and moved the skillet back, then snaked his arms around Napoleon’s back, pulling him close. He moved them away from the hot stove until Napoleon’s back was to the wall, never breaking the searing kiss. Illya fumbled with the buttons of Napoleon’s flannel shirt, finally pushing it open. He moaned as his exploring hands met the tight pattern of Napoleon’s long john shirt. Illya pressed closer to Napoleon and ground his erection against Napoleon’s longing for skin to skin contact.

Napoleon broke away and took in a long, deep, breath. “Illya,” he whispered looking into slitted blue eyes.

“Too much?” Illya asked, concerned. Yet even as he asked and searched the chocolate eyes of his partner for a sign to stop, Illya slid the flannel shirt off Napoleon’s body.

“Not enough,” Napoleon replied, eagerly peeling the long john shirt off as well. Napoleon took Illya’s hand and guided it to his own erection. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

“I did notice, I wasn’t sure if it was arousal at some fond memory recalled or…arousal,” Illya emphasized the word. “As in…for me.” Illya blushed a bright red.

“Some fond memory recalled?” Napoleon sputtered. “You don’t know? How I feel?” he asked in wonderment.

“I hoped. I still don’t know how you feel,” Illya said and added softly, “Literally and otherwise.” Then the mischief and teasing left Illya’s eyes and he grew serious. “Tell me how you feel, Napoleon?” he whispered as his hand worked Napoleon’s hard on through the thick fabric of his jeans.

“I’ve never said this to anyone before, not and meant it. I love you, Illya Kuryakin. I have for a long time but I denied it,” Napoleon told him honestly.

“And what made you stop denying?” Illya wanted to know. He watched Napoleon’s eyes intently.

“A combination of things. The way you looked in that white sweater and parka, the way the sweater’s collar hugs your throat, the way you looked at me when you asked me to follow your lead, the way you opened up about your past. The way you promised something everlasting. That’s the one that really did it. I want you, Illya, not just physically, though I do want you that way too, but I want you, forever, to be part of us, forever. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Illya nodded. “It is what I want as well but did not have the words to tell you.”

“Good because your stroking me that way is driving me insane,” Napoleon pushed his hips forward as Illya applied more pressure. “Too many clothes between us.” Napoleon reached over and tugged Illya’s sweater up.

Illya paused long enough to let the garment come off his arms and settle on the floor. He unsnapped Napoleon’s pants and slid the zipper down. Napoleon felt his clothing pulled over his hips and down his legs. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside. His freed penis bobbed until Illya’s large, calloused hand wrapped around it. Napoleon groaned at the feel of the strong, warm hand enveloping him, stroking him with purpose.

Napoleon watched as Illya fisted up and down his shaft. Beads of pre-ejaculate appeared and Illya ran his thumb over the slit, smearing the clear drops all over the head of Napoleon’s penis.

“Oh,” Napoleon moaned barely maintaining his control. The feel of his hard on being worked by a strong but gentle hand was amazingly arousing. Knowing that hand belonged to Illya, that it was Illya pumping up and down his penis, drawing him closer to climax, was almost enough to make him release. “Illya,” he groaned wanting to slow the pace, make this last.

Illya heard the plea and ignored it. He’d waited a long time for this moment and his own desire now was fierce. Illya knelt on the floor and began to lap at Napoleon’s weeping penis, starting at the tip and moving down the shaft then back up again. He repeated the motion, slow and langorious, letting his stubbled chin caress Napoleon’s balls. Illya reveled in the gasp that elicited and let his cheek scrape lightly up and down the silken shaft before resuming his lollipop licking. When he returned to the head, Illya engulfed it with his mouth and slowly took Napoleon in deep. He drew back slowly then just as slowly took him deep again.

“Christ, Illya,” Napoleon ground out as Illya swallowed around him. He was so close, wanted to come but at the same time wanted this to last forever.

With one hand, Illya held the base of Napoleon’s penis staving off his climax. With his other hand he reached up and gently pinched a peaked nipple. Napoleon moaned with pleasure as Illya rolled the hardened nub between his fingers. He rubbed his beard against his lover’s swollen organ again.

Napoleon was trembling. “Please, Illya,” he begged.

Taking mercy on his partner, Illya brought his hand down to Napoleon’s hip and held him firmly. He loosened the grip on his lover’s penis. and began to caress and roll his tight balls gently. He closed his mouth over the hard shaft and took it in to the root. Napoleon cried out when Illya squeezed his balls and swallowed around him at the same time.

Thick, slightly salty spurts slapped the back of Illya’s throat. He swallowed again and again. When Napoleon was spent, Illya released him and smiled at the sated look on Napoleon’s face.

“Last night when I found that vodka, I began to imagine what it would be like to get drunk on that and let you have your way with me,” Napoleon managed as his breathing began to slow. “You’ve had your way with me without the benefit of vodka and I plan to reciprocate,” Napoleon promised.

Napoleon pulled Illya up. “You…are still wearing…too many clothes,” he said and between the pauses, he stripped Illya naked. He Took the lithe body in his arms and kissed Illya carefully guiding him to the bed behind the fireplace.

By the time they slid under the quilts on the bed, breakfast was long forgotten, the wolves were forgotten, returning home, forgotten. Only the two of them, together in bed, remained.

Napoleon took the vodka jar from the headboard shelf and opened it. He took a healthy swallow then passed it to Illya as the clear liquid burned a path down to his stomach. He could barely breath and the urge to cough was only quelled by the burning in his throat.

While Napoleon gasped past the fire flowing down his throat, Illya took a measured gulp. It was fire but pure and delicious. Illya rose up and kissed Napoleon who was hovering above him. Their tongues dueled and caressed and explored some more. Eventually they had to break for air.

Illya drew a breath then took another quick drink from the jar. He offered it to Napoleon who shook his head in refusal.

“I don’t need the vodka to have my way with you either,” Napoleon grinned. “How can you take that fire into your belly?” Napoleon asked, returning the jar to the shelf.

“I have a fire in my belly but it isn’t vodka,” Illya purred laying back. He stroked himself seductively as Napoleon watched and grew hard again.

Napoleon leaned in for another kiss letting his hand drift down to toy with the hair on Illya’s chest. Illya gasped his pleasure when Napoleon found and harshly pinched his nipple. Napoleon broke the kiss to soothe the nipple with his tongue. He remembered the feel of Illya’s beard on his skin and let his cheek rub over the hard bud.

Illya’s head came up off the pillow. Napoleon’s beard was a thousand wiry pin pricks against sensitive flesh. Napoleon nipped, just shy of painful, then lathed his tongue in a circle and followed by rubbing his cheek across the nipple again. Illya’s gasp was almost a cry. Illya’s skin was hyper-sensitized. Napoleon’s hand drifted south. Everywhere he touched, his tongue and lips followed closely behind. Illya writhed as stiff mustache hairs ticked his skin with Napoleon’s kisses. He felt like he was wearing his skin inside out, all the nerves exposed to Napoleon’s tingling trail down Illya’s body. Napoleon fingers caressed the soft skin by Illya’s pelvis and finally joined his hand in stroking his straining penis.

“Napoleon,” Illya moaned but Napoleon’s was still moving slowly down his body. His partner would not be hurried.

Illya almost came out of his skin when Napoleon’s mouth kissed his navel, dipped his tongue in and swirled around inside. Illya grabbed Napoleon’s head and pulled him away muttering incoherently in Russian.

“I’m not finished,” Napoleon purred.

“Yes. You are,” Illya struggled to speak as he released Napoleon’s head. “Your beard has hypersensitised my skin.”

“I’m going to remember that,” Napoleon blew across the saliva dampened skin then moved down to Illya’s penis.

Napoleon watched the weeping head, a moment of torture for his partner who was desperate for release and bunching the quilt in his fists. Napoleon engulfed his partner’s erection swiftly and completely. Illya arched his back hissing at the sudden and glorious wet heat. Napoleon’s talented tongue teased and glided up and down as he sucked lightly. He probed the slit and Illya cried out, circled the glans and the Russian moaned. Teasing and stroking, all designed to bring Illya to the brink, Napoleon swallowed Illya as deep into his throat as was possible.

Illya thrust his hips upward as his climax was torn from him with a shout. His heart thundered in his chest and his breath first caught then blasted from his lungs. Napoleon sucked and swallowed until Illya began to ease back from his orgasm. Napoleon crawled up Illya’s body to kiss him soundly, mingling the taste of Illya and the moonshine in a heady cocktail for them both.

They lay together for a long while just regrouping, touching, exploring bodies they knew so well on one level and hardly at all on this new adventure. A hand feathered down a rib cage, a finger nudged a taut nipple, tongues met in sweet leisure, chests came together and bellies rubbed trapped re-awakened erections between them until the friction became too sweet and they splattered each other with their semen.

Illya rolled onto his back one arm tucked behind his head. Napoleon came up onto one elbow and with his free hand he played with the cooling semen on Illya’s belly.

“Thank you,” Napoleon said quietly, “for the best Valentine’s Day I have ever had and for everlasting memories.”

“Thank you, Napoleon,” Illya countered, “for giving me the best memory I could ever hope for. Now, when I think of this place, when I think of ‘home’, it will always be associated with you.”

“Here, my love,” Napoleon laid his hand flat on his chest, over his heart, then placed it on Illya’s chest, “is home. Forever.”

“Forever,” Illya agreed, leaned over and sealed it with a kiss.

Fini


End file.
